


Crack in the Egg

by Zen_monk



Category: Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII Series
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 20:58:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1662218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zen_monk/pseuds/Zen_monk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yaag Rosch grew up in fear and lived in complacency. He would always want for peace but never the fal'Cie life, where the fragility of their world rest in the palms of their hands. The gods are ruthless and distant, and he would watch as the shell around his life crack and crumble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crack in the Egg

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roseargent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseargent/gifts).



“Why now?”

Yaag Rosch stared through the window to the observation room where the boy sat atop, which he had prior laid on before restlessly sitting up by the edge for his feet to dangle impatiently. To his credit, the boy hadn’t whined or asked irritating questions that children his age were prone to do, though he whimpered fearfully when the doctors and scientists scrutinized his right hand. He wondered if it hurt to be branded. Kujata in the legends wasn’t exactly known for gentility; a dormant volcano can still burn.

“We already know the answer, Yaag.” Always a cool answer. Three steps ahead of the equation while he’s still trying to go through the proofs. “If you’re looking for comfort in clarification, then here it is: it means the legends are true and Pulse is in danger.”

He looked away from the boy to look at the pale reflection on the glass. It’s easier to look at Jihl at her reflection rather than face-to-face, especially when her green eyes blaze at the foundling l’cie before her. This was as close to jubilation as Jihl can express while at work, the brightness of her expression shining through like the sun through an icicle.

“I wasn’t implying that I had my doubts in faith,” sighed Yaag. “Merely… in awe that the event had finally happened. So many years. Decades. Centuries of preparation and planning, the repetition of our history to the point that, well…” he trailed off, unable to really articulate the gravity of the situation.

“To the point that preparing is the only thing we know in life, isn’t it Yaag?” Jihl turned to face him fully, so he had no choice but to look at her. Before him lies the spirit of adventure, the epitome of scientific brilliance and breakthroughs. It was the look of a leader, and that was why she always outscored him in the Academy, and why she had curried so much favor.

“Don’t fall behind, Yaag. You’ve done your drills for so long, you could dance in your sleep.”

 

* * *

 

Cocoon is a delicate shell, he thought. Inside was filled with wonders: sky, firma, and ocean all suspended in layers of people and gods and souls. It was difficult but a skilled pilot can reach up to the outermost vaults of the sky and see the curve of the metal going down Phoenix’s horizon. He would think that no matter how aerodynamic the airships, how vast the cities, or how clever they can change the genome of monsters to their bidding, humanity wouldn’t compare to the accomplishments of the fal'Cie which gave them life.

How do you top that? That’s what he wanted to know as a boy, and the more he knew the more he was in awe of the gods that house them. The more he knew, the further he hid under the covers of his bed at night, balled into a tight huddle with his knees underneath his chin because he realized how frail they all are and how unnecessary humans are to the might of the fal'Cie.

He used to have nightmares about someone displeasing them and letting Cocoon drop down into Pulse.

In Eden, there were radios and televisions showing the Sanctum’s broadcasts. When the Primarch has something to say, the entire area would be in a hush, waiting with bated breath and with some prayer as the golden figurehead of Cocoon gave thanks to all. When he was a boy, the presence comforted him.

In the Academy, that comfort became disillusionment.

 

* * *

 

“What’s a difference in skill if all that stands between us is a few test points?”

One must be wary of Jihl’s way of comforting people.

“It means I ought to know better,” retorted Yaag. He absentmindedly tugged at his uniform tie, feeling the need for a breeze beneath his collar. He frowned, realizing that he let himself look flustered around her.

Jihl held up a chastising finger.

“Hardly. When it comes to practical matters, let’s say for when some rampaging Pulse l’cie start coming round the corner, minor mishaps are a statistical guarantee. It’s what you do to counter those commonplace mishaps that really shows how good you are for the Sanctum.”

Yaag looked up at the score board and sighed. Jihl’s student picture was profiled very distinctly, ribboned in digital gold and with highlights to her score. His profile, right below her, was similarly garnished but with silver as grey as his hair and the skies outside the window. Phoenix must be lost in doldrums.

“How generous, Jihl,” he said. “You’re normally so…” A perfectionist. “Exact, and less forgiving to those who color outside the lines.”

Jihl extended a hand to let them walk and talk, and he obliged. Their dormitories are in the same direction, after all.

“I’ve decided to change that opinion,” said Jihl, hands clasped behind her back. Between her fingers was a pen idly swinging and tapping against her fingernails. “If we account all anomalies, that ensures the most precise course of action. And once known, we nick the source in the bud and let go on a festering course.”

“How lovely,” said Yaag dryly. “That’s what happened in the physical exam?”

“One ought to anticipate getting hit by a nerve gas and ingest a veil pill ahead of time. Or for that matter, how good I am at wounding them.”

“Only to get beaten when their down by a cocktail of slow, poison, and fog.”

Jihl flashed back a smile.

“One shouldn’t rest too much faith on their abilities.”

He rolled his eyes. Once crossing the threshold into the garden courtyard which function as a square between the girl and boy dormitories, they parted though Yaag meandered around the garden. It overlooked the skyline of Eden, and the highways that crisscross the air and the floating the air traffic of civilian airships. It glimmered in the day and shone at night. The city never rest and neither does the fal'Cie. It was a city of complacency, filled with people wondering what the next accessory would enhance or what culinary delight rides the latest fad. Houses go up and down, some neighborhoods torn down just to erect a whole new model of up-to-date housing. The level of activity and loose income rivals that of Nautilus, though it at least prides itself as a paragon of science and fal'Cie technological achievements rather than a beacon of debauchery.

Compared to other cities, this was the most likely to fold and fall.

However heavily guarded PSICOM was, Rosch could tell that they are barely above the skill level of an experience Guardian Corps member who have seen regular action. The rivalry between GC and PSICOM was intense, to say the least. And to his admittance, the only way that PSICOM would really devote a lot of energy towards other than their mission goal.

The winds picked up, scattering dust and petals and debris about the courtyard. For once, a wind fal’Cie was discontent.

 

* * *

 

Graduation was glorious. The feast afterwards sumptuous. He sat next to Jihl as the Salutatorian to her Valedictorian. He memorized his speech the whole week, and it showed in the pleased applause and whoops of congratulatory. Jihl’s closing speech was nothing short of electrifying.

“Congratulations, Mr. Rosch,” and the aforementioned graduate shook Cid Raines’ hand. “I’m sorry that the Cavalry didn’t get their hooks into you, but the Sanctum would probably be better off now with you in the ranks. Gives the right amount of spitfire for our annual mock sortie between the Corps.”

“Then you better watch out for next year, Mr. Raines,” said Rosch back with a grin. “We’ll show you what new blood can do.”

“You better share your new toys, then! We really can’t keep up with all the new models of weapons or beasts churning out every six months or less.”

Yaag’s smile was a little strained by then, until the end of the night his hand was all shook out and his cheeks were sore. A group comprised of his dormmates were huddled together, no doubt planning an escapade to Nautilus in a party float. He looked on to where Jihl was and saw her approached by other senior officers of PSICOM, as per usual. He sat at one of the tables of the reception, idly chewing on some sliced Bodhum melons when his parents sat on either side of him.

“Well done, son.”

“You’ve done us proud.”

“Did you choose a division? There were so many offers.”

“You know, I heard that GC would really get you closer to home and with more flexible hours.”

“Unless you thought of more schooling? By Carbuncle’s bounty, when will you get out of a desk and into the sun!”

“Sure you haven’t caught anyone’s eye? There’s no shame in marrying early and starting a family. Once you get a career going it’s hard to stop and settle.”

On and on were the questions, and suddenly he saw his future life flash by. Go through the ranks, get into either the research division or the court guard. Patrol the streets, go be stationed in some comfortable town like Bodhum, or to participate in research in the Gapra Whitewood. Make a family. Settle. Let the fal’Cie run its course for another lifetime and beyond.

The Bodhum melons soured in his mouth.

“I should try something different,” he said at last.

If the fal’Cie folds, all of humanity is doomed. Pulse is far away. Cocoon is suspended in the palm of God, and that frightens him more.

 

*

PSICOM needed a boost in morale. Propaganda can only go so far before being another thing to lull into complacency. He dove right into fal’Cie research while being a part of security. The more he knew, the more he had difficulty in separating god and the machine. It had been centuries before any fal’Cie had decided to take matters into their own hands and make l’Cie of some lot of misfortunates.

No, the pious.

He was starting to believe that the legends only exist in the scripted parades of Nautilus.

The more the science division utilized the energy and resources exuding from the caretaker gods, the more he thought if they could replicate the very same usage that the gods do. Is Carbuncle present in every garden in Cocoon, once he saw how contained it was beneath Palumpolum? Does Phoenix fly above or remain in place?

What is the sun outside of Cocoon?

Crack open the shell, and the chick flies free, crying yet breathing.

The crack from Ragnarok contained the vestiges of Pulse long past. The ruins still sink in the bottom of the shell around Lake Bresha and the Vile Peaks.

The evidence made legend fact. Still, he wished that they put the legends behind them.

Yaag wanted a new sweep through the lake and the Hanging Edge. There was always something new to find from Pulse, even centuries after the War of Transgression. Doing so keeps PSICOM on their toes, even though it’s one of the usual duties that they specialized in.

Who knows when some Pulse fal’Cie snuck in through the cracks and lie in wait to ensnare new l’Cie for their war games.

Yaag knows the confinement of PSICOM uniforms. Cover up the whole body from crown to toe. A mask and visor for breathing and visibility in all weather and battle outcomes. Let no fal’Cie tendril through to brand you.

It was all false, though. Everyone knows that branding goes through people’s clothes. The fal’Cie have only needed to reach your soul to mark you as theirs forever.

Funny. There’s really no crystal erected of former Cocoon l’Cie.

Lightning strikes in the Vile Peaks, and rumbled from thunder and static in the air. It’s been said that the source of all the ill weather was caused by some ghost of a l’Cie, their powers and fabled Eidolon moving through the crevices of the peaks through the very electrons in the air.

Yaag put a gag order on all gossip while he’s around.

 

* * *

 

It’s been a few years since being in PSICOM. He was now Captain of his own division. Jihl Nabaat had her own division for quite some time. One spring day, when windy Valvalicia (or was it Barbariccia?) decided to let down the winds and ease everyone’s allergies for the season. Physical qualifications were in the outside courtyard, to better see everyone’s endurance beneath the sun. He walked down a walkway hanging over the recruits, the other captains with him.

“That one over there. With the rose-colored hair.”

With a dark gloved hand he pointed to one such cadet done where the swordsmen were situated in their group of expertise. The recruit in question, clad in standard cap and uniform for female cadets, had just elegantly parried off her opponent with little effort.

“A bit short for a trooper,” said his compatriot.

“But so much raw potential in that one,” countered Yaag. “What’s her number?”

An aide looked at her tablet to scroll down the list. “Number 063413. Goes by Farron. But she only applied for GC, with Bodhum as top priority.”

“Shame,” remarked Yaag. “She would’ve made a name for herself here one day. Hate to see her in Cid’s hands if it comes to the next mock sortie.”

 

* * *

 

He received the phone call from the PSICOM branch in Euride Gorge while he was having tea with his subordinates. Jihl had already went ahead for the next airship to EG, so he was to rendezvous with her to form assist in the perimeter and the manhunt.

The tea was bitter. He let the leaves sit for too long.

The klaxons were silent when he arrived with his team, though they periodically sound off whenever Kujata gave off unexpected bursts of power. This was an agitated bull of a fal’Cie.

PSICOM, GC, and local authorities filled the hallways to the brim. Partitions were erected and rooms were reserved. Engineers, scientists, and even union workers were interrogated for days on end. Sanctum scientists quarantined those suspected to have interacted with the Pulse intruder.

In the security room, he watched intently alongside Jihl the blurred video and audio of the intruders.

“Incredible,” breathed Jihl.

“They…look like our people,” said Yaag in wonder. If he hadn’t already known that they were suspected Pulse invaders, he would’ve thought they were some teenagers wearing the latest fad, however strange their garb. Now they were marked by strangeness.

And danger.

“We should alert the media. Send out wanted posters and regularly televised reminders of these terrorists. We should close off roadways and corridors leading out of the Euride Gorge, and set up a curfew.” He straightened up, having seen enough of the video, and started for action when suddenly he was stopped by the faintest brushing of her baton.

“Belay. That. Order.” She said calmly.

“What?” he whirled around, indignant.

She pulled back her baton and tapped the tip against the palm of her left hand. “Do you intend to start a panic, Rosch? Send everyone on a witch hunt for these two witches and turn everyone into a feeding frenzy of paranoia? As amusing as that would be to witness, doing so would only wound ourselves tighter than Bomb’s inherent trigger. And squeeze out our targets from our grasp like a greased duck.”

She moved away from him to the next room where the distraught father would be. Yaag followed after her.

“Then we wait until they look for the next fal’Cie? Rear up their Eidolons to maybe Carbuncle, then. Or get themselves lost in the Vile Peaks where they salvage whatever godsforsaken Pulse technology that only they know.”

Jihl stopped by the threshold of the door, holding up her hand to stop him. She slowly turned around. The blood in his veins suddenly turn to ice.

“We monitor everything, Rosch. They are always in our gaze. Reach out to GC and PSICOM in other branches, but only give PSICOM the full information. Have GC see them as only petty criminals. Malcontents from Eden University who thought they can protest against the status quo or what have you. But PSICOM will hold all the cards.”

Yaag Rosch nodded dumbly, and went ahead to deliver the given protocols.

Jihl, turning around and putting on a fresh smile, sauntered into the room where Sazh Katzroy sat, alone and in need of a comforting arm.

 

* * *

 

It was late at night. The break room at Euride Gorge’s PSICOM HQ had only two occupants, for there were only two high ranking officers in that branch. Jihl raised a glass of deep red Palumpolum wine.

“To us Lieutenant Colonels, who have lived in this day and century to find and fight against Cocoon’s natural enemy at last.”

Yaag did not raise his own glass.

After a sip, Jihl said again, “And to well-behaved children, the future of this generation and current hero against the monsters from down below.”

“Dear god, you mean to make this boy a hero? Does he even know what a Focus is?”

“He is surprisingly thoughtful for a six-year-old boy. His parents, excuse me, parent had raised him well.”

Yaag scoffed. “Didn’t think you were the maternal type.”

She swirled the glass by the tip, looking down at the red liquid. “Children, when trained right, can be the most useful of tools. Next to dogs, of course. It helps when their parents are such the honest, earnest sort.”

He downed his glass in one gulp and poured himself another.

“What were they even doing there? For that matter, why wasn’t he looking after his son more closely. Wandering off to classified areas just because he can. Security better be sacked, allowing not only two strange women near Kujata but also a child.”

He raised his glass to his lips, only to stop and thought for a moment, then set it down to first top off Jihl’s glass. She smiled as sweet as a cat with a mouse.

“But this anomaly has allowed us to gain an even better tactical advantage.”

“Oh?” said Yaag, eyebrow raised in challenge. “You don’t mean you actually prepared for this? Not mad that something slipped through perfection?”

She gave him a long stare. He looked down at his glass sheepishly.

“Dajh Katzroy may have the ability to look for them.”

“He is an eyewitness.”

“No. He pointed at the map to Bodhum and said ‘we should go there.’”

He looked away in disbelief. “For what? There’s advertisement everywhere for the Bodhum Fireworks Festival. He probably wants to make a wish there like all the other yokels.”

Jihl leaned forward, causing him to lean back into his seat. “That child pointed at the topography of Bodhum, not a civilian map. And the area he pointed in has the vestige ruins.”

Yaag cleared his throat. “The cluster of Pulse rocks, yes?”

She gave a cold smile. “Yes.”

Yaag sighed long and hard.

“Always. The fal’Cie dictate our lives,” he said suddenly. If he were marked as an unfaithful, better do so in front of a cold person like Jihl who does not hold the faith of fools. “They come up to build a facade and slink away in the very rocks we mistook for curios. Now they rear their heads up to disrupt the natural order.”

“Oh? A lieutenant colonel of PSICOM expressing discontent over the gods?”

He frowned, tipping his glass side by side to see the liquid move around. “If we humans can live without the fal’Cie, then the gods have no other meaning than just sentient facts of nature. But we do not. We don’t have the means to live by ourselves. We are like lizards in a glass biosphere.”

“And the snake have entered our tranquil little garden. So are you going to consider watching the chaos unfold and see if we humans can live up to inherent nobility? Or will you play the good cop and keep the peace? Hm?”

He poured himself another glass.

“I’ll dance the dance until I die.”

 

* * *

 

Phoenix smiles down on Palumpolum. The sunny day would pierce through all the shadows where the l’Cie hide. It was projected that most would meet there, and there he would make his first and final standoff against them.

The boy’s name was Estheim and the family lived in the new apartments in the upper quarters of the city. He hoped to play into the boy’s want for security and seek refuge with the only family who might be willing to accept him. Or not. The boy and his mother had attended the fireworks and were accounted for in the train ride to the Hanging Edge. He was then spotted through security cameras installed in the helmets of some of his soldiers.

Now he saw firsthand the hideous power of Pulse l’Cie. If Cocoon’s only champion was a little boy, then it rests solely on the people to fend them off.

He was spotted again in the Gapra Whitewood with only one other person guiding him. Not his mother. He wondered if, in the frenzy of obtaining his Eidolon, which he had yet to produce in battle though his female counterpart had numerous times, the boy had taken his mother’s life.

His lips set a grim thin line. They will triumph now, after centuries of preparation.

Never had his sense of purpose surged so highly as today was.

He looked up at Phoenix and down in the waters where Leviathan made his dominion around Palumpolum. They were watching him, too. He will show them what humanity is made of, their loyal pets capable enough to defend their home without the help of any of their l’Cie to be made. He dare not say it aloud, lest they hear his arrogance and transform his entire contingent into Cocoon C’ieth.

He drew his saber out of its sheath. “This is for humanity,” he said to the blade.

Let the gods rule, but watch the people conquer.


End file.
